Insert Clever title Here
by Slaashyish
Summary: It's just a oneshot I started writing a while back, and finally finished the other day. Warhammer Fantasy setting. It's about a vampire. Certain humorous elements I think they're chuckle-worthy at least .


The night was dark, Mannslieb near invisible; and with a storm about to break, this Geheimnisnacht was turning out to be perfect. A crash of thunder signalled the opening of the heavens and momentarily hid the sounds of the dark incantations being woven in the darkness of a Sylvanian cemetery. The overpowering noise did not detract from the power of the words in any way, however, and even as the first drops of rain began to fall to earth, the dirt of the graves was slowly pushed aside.

Filth caked hands broke the surface, the rotten skin tearing as withered muscles flexed and strained. Faint witchlights flickered in eyes without motion or intelligence. As the necromantic magic flowed slowly through the deteriorating carcasses, more of the years dormant musculature was forced to move again, brittle bones creaked under strains they should have been too weak to bear and the bodies of the dead half-straightened in a horrific imitation of the living.

The shambling desecrations made their laborious way towards the only crypt in the graveyard and the source of the power which called them from their rest. A black robed figure stood atop the baroque structure, his arms spread towards the sky and the ancient Nehekaran sorcery still spilling from his lips. A flash of lightning showed a skull-face mask beneath the hood of his robes, and a silver skull pendant hanging around his neck.

The thunder which followed did not last long enough to disguise the creaking sound from beneath him but he failed to hear it through the sheer sense of power flowing through him at the success of his spell.

In fact, it was not until the next flash of lightning that he saw that he was no longer alone.

The new figure waited until after the peal of thunder had passed before speaking. "You're new to this aren't you? Come on. Inside."

The voice was cultured, and though the accent was not strong, it was unmistakably the voice of a man from outside Sylvania. It also held a note of command which the robed figure found difficult to disobey. He managed to convince himself that he was only going to agree because it was getting quite wet up here on the roof of the crypt, and that it would likely be warmer inside as well.

The necromancer moved quickly to the edge of the roof and the ladder he'd left there after climbing up. The rungs were slippery, but he managed to keep his footing on all but the last, so the worst that happened was that a little muddy water splashed into his left boot. He trudged through the entranceway hunched over against the rain.

It was dark within, but the transition from outside was not great and his eyes adjusted quickly. Even so, he could barely make out the figure in the shadows. Almost as though responding to his wishes, torches set into wall brackets along the crypt interior burst into life. Now the other man was clearly visible. The most obvious thing about him was the cut of his clothes. The fashions were slightly outdated by the standards of the Nobles in Altdorf and Nuln, but in Sylvania they were progressive styles. However they may have compared to current fashions, they were obviously richly made; tailored to fit, and stitched by a skilled hand.

The mysterious man quickly took control of the conversation. "Oh dear, it is a mask after all. I had hoped you were just ugly."

The necromancer's hands flew to his face and his bone mask. The voice from behind it echoed slightly, though not enough to hide the tenor's pitch; "I thought it was suitable."

"Melodramas."

"What?"

The man sighed. "You've seen necromancers in melodramas wear them, correct?" He didn't wait for an answer, continuing to speak before the boy nodded his confirmation. "It's such a silly idea you couldn't possibly have gotten it anywhere else." Now that the initial surprise had faded, the young necromancer-in-training started to notice other things about the man he was speaking to, like the cadence of his accent which suggested that he hailed from Brettonia and his very pale skin. The necromancer was far from heavily tanned himself, but the older man's visage resembled the newly dead.

The young sorcerer took a step backwards towards the crypt door as it dawned on him just what he had so casually followed in there. The vampire's face flashed with puzzlement for a moment before breaking into an amused realisation. "My dear boy, What did you think I was? Very few of the living spend much time in crypts on Geheimnisnacht. I won't say there are none, as you yourself would be proof against such an assertion; and there was a strange chap I met once, obsessed with painting Morrslieb on the night of mysteries for some reason. I never did find out why he did so from inside a crypt, but the oddities of nobles are irrelevant at this juncture. Your inexperienced probings into the dark arts awakened me before I had planned to rise, and if you know anything about my kind, you will understand that such a mistake was not a wise one to make."

Even through the silvered mask on his face, the necromancer's fear of the creature before him was clear. The young man was almost cowering in his attempts to avoid the vampire's direct gaze, which of course drew his focus all the more urgently. He suddenly ceased shaking however, and drew himself up to his full height which, unimpressive as may have been, still caused the vampire to pause.

Affecting his most impressive voice and intoning the words as though they had some ceremonial meaning, the young man struck a sorcerous pose his hands outstretched to the sky, or at least the roof; "By the powers of darkness at my beck and call, I command thee creature of undeath to obey my every will!"

After a short pause, the vampire clapped his hands together three times. "Well, if nothing else I have to give you marks for courage. The voice wasn't bad considering what you've got to work with, and the invocation was passable for an improvisation. I think your major flaw was a misunderstanding of my words. I understand it of course. I wasn't clear enough which is why I haven't already torn your throat out for attempting such an indignity against me. Your spell may have awoken me, but only because I slept so deeply. Once my conscious mind returned, I broke what tenuous hold your weak magicks had over it, and your will is far too weak to dominate mine. You couldn't even keep the poor corpses you animated standing once you lost sight of them. Nor did you notice that I took command of them."

The fear that had been building steadily in the sorcerer once he realised his foolishness leapt to new heights at the newest revelation, as the unpleasant scent filling the vampires nostrils confirmed. His voice when it came, was weaker than before, and trembled though the rest of him was frozen still. "Please… please… let me live. I… I beg you."

The vampire covered the distance between them in the blink of an eye, and gripped the necromancer by the robes across his chest and hurled him out into the night to lie in the mud among the freshly re-dug graves.

"Don't be so fearful. I have no intention of killing you." The vampire was calm as he strode out of the crypt and closed the door. Seeing the confusion on the young human's face as he glanced around in fear, he continued. "I sent those pathetic creatures back to their graves to rot in peace. Now tell me," He swooped down to look the necromancer in the eye with a grin; "Is the temple of Shallya still at the centre of the village, opposite the town hall?"

The terrified young man nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Good. I feel a mite peckish, and the temple always has a bountiful selection."

The pale face of the vampire retreated into the shadows with a pointed grin and a grim laugh; leaving the necromancer to ponder his life choices and already suffering the guilt of the inevitable deaths of virgin novitiates of the temple.

The next morning, two novitiates awoke with confused memories of the night before, each involving a handsome, gentleman with a kind voice, but few details. Neither could explain the light-headedness with which they awoke, or the two pinpricks at the base of their necks. Each girl assumed the marks must have been caused by a slip with a pin while undressing.

As neither girl ever spoke of it, they never realised how exactly identical their apparently natural explanations were.


End file.
